


tumblr ficlets

by Paradise_of_Mary_Jane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Gen, Implied Character Death, Implied abuse, M/M, References to bullying, Tumblr fics, Unrequited Love, aftermath of the willow incident, cuddling for warmth, warnings inside per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11459067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane
Summary: compilation of everything i've written on tumblr. relationships and chapter warnings inside.





	1. prompt fill: Deamus cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm compiling my stuff on [tumblr](http://www.pdfcct.tumblr.com) onto here because there's too much and I am very lost. This is me attempting to organize my life.
> 
> This is, generally speaking, T rated, but like, it has individual warnings which is contained in the notes of each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon prompt fill: Deamus. Cuddles in front of a fire place.
> 
> Characters: Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan  
> Ship: Deamus
> 
> Set at the beginning of their fifth year.

Seamus sighed, a languid grin on his face. The two of them are alone in the common room, on Seamus’ favorite chair, watching the fire. Everyone else has either gone to bed or has snuck out to god knows where. Seamus, as usual, is refusing to go up to the dorms.

“Alone at last,” he says.

“We could always just go to the dorms, you know?” Dean says. He’s lying on Seamus’ lap, sketching absently. Drawing fire is always hard. Lights and shadows and constantly shifting. “Were there are actual beds. It’s late Seamus. Why don’t we just go to bed?”

Dean doesn’t have to look up to know that Seamus is giving him a look. It’s sort of a given at this point. He doesn’t say anything, because, really, what is there to be said?

“You know why not,” Seamus says tightly. His hand, which had been absently running through Dean’s hair, had stopped.

Dean remains silent. He focuses on the fire, on capturing those fluid curves that change and shift with each moment.

“What?” Seamus demands. “Are you going to call me a liar, too?”

“No one’s calling you a liar,” Dean says calmly.

“Really? Cause it bloody sounds like–”

“Seamus,” Dean snaps. Seamus immediately deflates. Dean reaches out and takes his hand. His thumb rubs gentle circles on Seamus’ palm. He softens his tone. “This isn’t you against the world, alright?”

“You don’t–you don’t actually believe  _him,_ do you?”

Dean makes a thoughtful sound. He continues to sketch, though he already knows that he’ll hate it when he finishes it. It looks silly.

“I don’t know much about this stuff, honestly,” he says. “I don’t–I just found out about this five years ago. I didn’t grow up here like you did. I don’t know, maybe he is wrong, but I know Harry and he’s not a liar. And no way he was faking those nightmares, Seamus. You know he’s not.”

“He can’t be back,” Seamus says, and for the first time, he sounds scared. “He  _can’t.”_

Dean bites his lip.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling Seamus down for a deep kiss. Their noses bump together and it’s not at all a comfortable position but it seemed necessary. 

“The world’s not always a fight, you know."

“I’m starting to,” Seamus breathes. He hasn’t moved, still bent over Dean, the tips of their noses touching.

“I’m not asking you to be best friends with the man,” Dean says. “But at least try to be civil.”

Seamus tenses and for a moment, Dean almost thinks that he’s going to get angry again. Then, he pulls Dean up into an embrace, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean wraps his arms around Seamus and finds that he’s shaking slightly.

“I don’t deserve you,” Seamus mumbles. “You are unreal.”

Dean laughs.

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be you,” he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my pdfcct.tumblr.com (ao3 will not let me post links and I don't know why.)


	2. Blackinnon cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill:  
> clarapotters asked: blackinnon cuddles (just waking up)
> 
> Characters: Sirius Black, Marlene McKinnon  
> Ship: Blackinnon

Here’s a little known fact about Sirius Black: He is an absolute cuddle monster in bed. People tend to think the opposite, after all, Sirius Black is not a tactile man, but they’re wrong. Marlene will fall asleep with Sirius turned away from her and wake up pinned to the bed in a tangle of long limbs.

And she loves the man, she really does, and he’s beautiful in his sleep, but…

“Sirius,” she tries to nudge his arm away, to no avail. “Sirius come on, I have to get up.”

Sirius doesn’t even stir. Another little known fact: Sirius Black sleeps like the dead.

Marlene tries again. She manages to break free of one of his death grips, only to have him stir slightly and tighten his other arm around her waist. His lips change to a tiny, adorable frown.

Alright then, a change of strategies is in order. She wiggles slightly so that she’s facing him, and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Wake up love,” she murmurs.

Sirius stirs, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. Marlene moves onto his lips. It’s not much, jut a slight blush of the lips, but it’s enough for Sirius’ eyes to flutter open ever so slightly.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” Marlene says. “Do you mind getting off me? It’s late and I have to get to work.”

Sirius’ grip tightens.

“No work,” he says. “More sleep.”

“Sirius!”

“A few more minutes?”

Marlene sighs.

“You’re incorrigible,” she says. Sirius grins at her lazily.

“You love me,” he says.

“I’ll love you less if I’m late for work.’ Nonetheless, she lets Sirius press his lips against hers.

“Morning breath,” Marlene says.

“You’re the one who kissed me first,” Sirius points out.

“Are you saying I have morning breath?”

Sirius laughs. 

“Never,” he says. “Just stay for a few more minutes? Please.”

Marlene sighs. She wraps an arm around Sirius’ waist and presses a soft kiss to his hair.

“A few more minutes then.”


	3. Prongsfoot cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill:  
> domlnique asked: cuddling out of necessity: any ship  
> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Ship: Prongsfoot

It’s not often that James will admit to a mistake but this time, yes, he’ll admit to it: the entire, bloody disaster is his own damn fault.

“I can’t believe you lost your wand,” Sirius mutters. He’s shivering hard despite being bundled up under their two cloaks.That’s what you get when you fall down a pond in the middle of winter. James had done his best to get rid of his wet clothes but there’s only so much he can do and Sirius can’t go gallivanting around a forest in the middle of winter without clothes on.

“Either the wands or our lives,” James says. He’s trying to start a fire, but to no avail. It would be easier if he had a wand but he’d lost those during the fight. Sirius had a lighter but that’s probably useless after falling through the ice. He clicks the two stones together again. Nothing. Not even a spark. “Damn it.”

“You have to strike harder,” Sirius tells him. He gestures vaguely towards James–or tries to, anyway. His arm just drops back to the side as if held down by weights. “Like. Like that. Trust me. I learned that in muggle studies.” James pointedly ignores the slur in Sirius’ speech as he strikes the two stones together again.

Still no fire.

“Do you want me to try?” Sirius asks.

“You just rest. You’re exhausted Padfoot.” And your hands are shaking too much to hold onto anything right now, James doesn’t point out. Mostly because Sirius is probably feeling horrible enough as it is and it’s all James’  _fault_. This mission is stupid and James was stupid because he’d messed up so much and now everything's gone to hell.

Sirius hums.

“Cold,” he mumbles.

“I’ll get a fire started soon,” James promises. Soon, it turns out, is three more tries. Finally, smoke rises from the pile of sticks and James breathes a sigh of relief.

Sirius is still shivering.

“C’mere,” James says. He moves closer to Sirius, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him against his chest. His skin is  _freezing._

“What are you doing?”Sirius mumbles.

“Stay awake,” James says. “And I’m sharing my warmth so that you don’t freeze to death, silly.”

“M’not gonna freeze to death.”

“No,” James says. “You’re not.”

They’re silent for a long time apart from James’ occasional reminders for Sirius to stay awake. He starts drawing circles on Sirius’ skin. It calms the both of them. Sirius isn’t so tense in his grip anymore. Stay awake if you’re cold, his mum would always tell him. Otherwise you may not be able to wake back up. She usually bundles up with blankets after that but James doesn’t have any blankets to wrap around Sirius so his own body will have to do. His grip on Sirius tightens. Sirius, in turn, buries his head against James’ shoulder.

“James.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop being stupid.”

“Huh?”

“S’not your fault,” Sirius says.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“I can hear you thinking it.”

“I’m not–”

“It’s the Death Eaters,” Sirius says. “Like it always is.”

“If I had payed more attention he wouldn’t have been able to push you into that stupid lake,” James says. He still remembers the utter terror he’d felt when the ice under Sirius’ feet had cracked and Sirius had suddenly disappeared.

He doesn’t remember dropping his wand but he remembers running towards Sirius in a panic. He remembers dragging Sirius, practically frozen towards the cave where they’re at now.

“S’not your fault,” Sirius repeats. He’s not shivering as much anymore. The fire is brighter now, fingers of heat tickling James’ skin.

“Whatever you say,” James says. “Are you warmer now?”

“A bit,” Sirius says, which means not at all. “I can walk again, at any rate.”

“Let’s get you warmed up first before we go look for help,” James says. Sirius lets out a shaky breath.

“That’s going to take a while.”

James pulls Sirius even closer. Close enough that James can feel the warmth of Sirius’ breath on his skin.

“We’ll manage,” he says


	4. jily cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill:  
> anonymous asked: cuddles on the couch or loveseat (any ship)
> 
> Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans  
> Ship: Jily

Lily is attempting to study her Defense notes on her favorite couch by the common room fire when a familiar weight drops down on her lap. The stack of books that she’d piled up at her feet collapses as arms encircle her neck.

“James… James what are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

“Sitting?”

“Sitting.”

“You’re sitting on me.”

“Isn’t that what love couches are for?”

Lily sighs, putting her book down. She’s fighting down a smile but there’s no way she’s letting James know that. She ducks her head to makes sure he doesn’t notice.

“ _Love Seat_ James, and we’re not sitting on one. We’re sitting on a regular couch. A regular couch with space. A couch that is in the middle of the common room.”

James nuzzles against her neck, before pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe I just wanted to be close to my girlfriend.”

Lily places an involuntary hand on his head, absently running her hand through his hair. James absolutely purrs, relaxing and stretching, eyes closing. Lily can’t help but laugh. She smothers it with her hand. Dammit.

“You’re like a cat,” Lily says. James opens an eye to give her a half-hearted glare.

“Excuse me but I am a  _lion.”_

“Cat,” Lily says. “All that’s missing are the ears.”

“I am hurt Lily.”

“Bully for you.”

James sighs dramatically. He somehow moves closer to Lily, until he’s almost lying on top of her. The book she was reading falls to the ground with a soft thud. He gently jabs a finger to her ribs and Lily lets out a yelp. She jumps and James nearly falls to the ground. He only manages to save himself by holding onto Lily’s neck and burying his face into her hair.

“Serves you right,” she says, sniffing.

“I will never get over how ticklish you are.” James says. “Maybe I could…”

His hands wander down, from her ribs to her stomach.

“Fine! You’re not a cat, you’re a huge lion with a huge lion roar.”

James gives a yell of triumph.

“And definitely a lion who should get off me now because I’m trying to study.”

“C’mon Lils,” James says. “I promise I’ll be quiet. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

“Your presence is distracting,” Lily says.

“Quiet as a mouse,” James promises.

“Distracting,” Lily repeats because there is nothing more distracting than  _James Potter sitting on her lap._

And to her horror she’s actually blushing. Dammit. James, true to character, interprets her reaction correctly. He grins at her, mischievous.

“Is that so?” he says.

“Shut up,” Lily says and yes, her face must be bright red now.

“I’ll see you at the heads dorms later,” James says. 

“Oh for the love of–”

“I’m going! I’m going!”

And he does go, getting up with the same mischievous grin on his face. 

“But I will see you later, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” Lily says. “Now leave. I have to study and you are  _distracting.”_

James grins and all but struts out of the common room.


	5. Promises Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are in bed together when Lily asks.
> 
> “James,” she says. “Will you do something for me?”
> 
> He looks at her with shining hazel eyes. His lips are upturned in a smile. His arm is strong around her waist. Like a king. He looks like a king.
> 
> “Anything,” he breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for hpwriter's net first prompt: Lily Evans and James Potter
> 
> Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans, Severus Snape  
> Ship: Jily  
> Warning: Um a whole lot darker than the previous fics.

They are in bed together when Lily asks.

 “James,” she says. “Will you do something for me?”

 He looks at her with shining hazel eyes. His lips are upturned in a smile. His arm is strong around her waist. Like a king. He looks like a king.

 “Anything,” he breathes.

——

they first meet when they’re eleven. she nearly punches him and he would have deserved it.

 instead, she walks away and his eyes couldn’t help but follow.

 –

 they meet again and they’re still eleven. it’s only a few hours later and they’re in the same house. he shakes her hand, tries to be her friend. she takes it, not quite sure if she wants to be his friend. he has hazel eyes and a wide smile that looks as if he is on top of the world.

 ‘lily,’ she says. ‘my name is lily.’

 ‘my name is james. it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

 –

 there are many more meetings after that. they meet everyday and they’re not quite friends. he wants to be her friend because he wants to be everybody’s friend. he has many of them but only a few of them close enough to be real. look around, you’ll always see him wandering the corridors with those shining hazel eyes and arms slung over the same three boys.

 he chatters endlessly and holds his head high, like a king. like a saving knight. people are drawn to him like a moth to the fire in his shining hazel eyes.

 she is drawn to it, too, but she does not know if she wants to be his friend. people are drawn to her, too and she almost takes them up on it but she doesn’t. she is used to being alone. she always is. that’s what happens when you end up befriending someone who seems to ooze loneliness like he is made of it. she doesn’t really mind but she knows that other people do. severus prefers to be alone, seems to reject anyone’s company but hers. lily doesn’t quite understand it but she respects it.

 severus is her friend. her dearest and her oldest friend. she will not abandon him so easily.

 –

 school and learning and magic becomes a sort of game between them. he is playful and she is too. she is here to be the best and he knows that he is.

 (they are all the best. the best and the brightest all circling each other in the same classes, fighting, racing to be the best of the best. it’s a game to all of them and none of them like losing.)

 lily is better at charms and james is better at transfiguration. neither of them can quite figure out how to like history of magic but they try. peter is, surprisingly enough, the one who beats them at herbology while remus is an absolute monster at defence against the dark arts. sirius absolutely demolishes all of them in astronomy.

 potions, on the other hand, is anybody’s game.

 –

 they first kiss when they are both fourteen. it was a dare made by mary. sirius and remus and peter had managed to sneak an entire crate off butterbeer into the castle and are tight-lipped as to how. lily was a little tipsy and so was james. it was a night of laughter, a night of youth.

 his lips are soft and sweet. she can feel his wide, wide grin.

 –

 the morning after, neither can quite look the other in the eye. they agree never to speak of that night ever again.

 –

 she is fifteen and there are moments when it feels like her best friend has disappeared to be replaced by a monster she does not know.

 ‘stay away from them severus,’ she will always say when she sees the gaggle of friends he has. the same people who regularly curse her existence. ‘they’re horrible.’

 severus will always turn to her, hold her hand, and say that they aren’t.

 ‘they’re my friends,’ he says.

 and that, lily thinks, is precisely the problem.

 –

 a few days after james turns sixteen, severus nearly dies and he is involved somehow. this time, she does punch him in the face.

 ‘you’re an arse,’ she says. he rubs at his jaw and looks at her with tired eyes.

 ‘i know,’ he says. ‘we all are.’

 the sound of his voice is nearly enough to make her back down. he is james potter and he is everything a gryffindor is supposed to be; brave and brash and reckless. he never backs down from a fight and he is never  _resigned._

 ‘why can’t you just leave him alone!’ she screams instead. ‘what the hell has he ever done to you?’

 but that’s not quite the right question to ask because severus and his friends never agreed with james and his friends. they were the people who just seemed to be born to be rivals. but it was going too far. there was petty crimes and there is murder and there are things that sixteen-year-olds are not supposed to think about, let alone do.

 (but severus had spoken of it as well. in hushed tones, face excited, like he was telling her about a new potions discovery instead of a spell that can maim people. the two groups have always held a bloodlust for the other does it matter that james and his friends got there first?)

 his smiles at her but it is empty. he does not look like a king, only a sixteen-year-old boy who just got punched in the face.

 the sight of it makes her breath catch in her throat.

 ‘why do you hate each other so much?’ she asks.

 the laugh he gives is hollow and tired. his form is curled in on himself, like he’s as tired of this feud as lily is.

 ‘i think you’d know better than anyone the answer to that, evans.’

 lily swallows. the worst part is that he’s right.

 –

 she is sixteen when she finally pulls away from severus’ grasp.

 it’s been a long time coming. back home, severus is shy smiles and wry comments. there has always been a darkness around him but it had been small enough that she could ignore it.

 she can’t ignore it now.

 he follows her and pleads and begs her to stay.

 ‘please lily,’ he will always say. he sounds like a drowning man, begging for a lifeline. oddly enough, she feels nothing towards it. whoever is standing before her now, it wasn’t the friend she grew up with. that friend had disappeared through the passing of time.

she is not a lifeline. she never wanted to be.

 ‘no severus,’ she says, only once. ‘i’ve had enough.’

 –

 they are sixteen when james, a stuttering mess, asks her out on a date. the sight of it makes lily smile and she says yes almost without thinking.

 he laughs and the sound is well worth it.

 

 ——

 

 “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll never, ever leave me.”

His grip on her tightens and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“I promise,” he says. “I’ll stay with you. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka I fail at being experimental part 1


	6. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James’ head snaps up. There she is, and yeah, this is a different kind of red entirely, and probably the most wonderful kind. The kind of red he’d never get tired off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans  
> Ship: Jily

People, James thinks, are entirely too obsessed with the color red.

James hadn’t noticed until now, standing right next to Madam Pudifoot’s, that there is entirely too much red in his life. The red of the Gryffindor banner—bloody obsessed everyone is. He’d say it was just a horrible cliché, but yes, Gryffindors actually do wear that much red—and now, those many different variations of red hearts plastered on the wall.

James loves red just as much as the next Gryffindor, but he thinks that this is entirely too much. He thinks that he may be getting a little sick of it.

“James!”

James’ head snaps up. This is a different kind of red entirely, though, and probably the most wonderful kind. The kind of red he’d never get tired off.

She bounds up to him, cheeks red from the cold, a red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her dark red hair falls in gentle waves around her face and James cannot help but be entranced by the way they shine.

“You made it.” And maybe he lets out a little sigh of relief. He'd gladly admit to it.

Red lips open up into a bright, little laugh.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” she says. “It’s not everyday I say yes to a date to the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.”

James hands her the roses he brought her, though shoves may be a more apt term. His hands are shaking quite horribly. Her hands automatically come up to take them, eyebrows jumping in surprise.

“Not lilies?” she asks.

“I just thought you’d be sick of them,” James says, cheeks coloring. “Besides, I heard you liked roses.”

“And where did you hear that? I don’t usually go around telling people my flower preferences.”

James’ face is entirely too hot. It feels as if he’s been dropped in the middle of summer instead of standing near the end of winter.

“Well, you know, I have my ways. And word gets around,” he finishes lamely. The truth of the matter is that he heard it from Sirius who heard it from Peter who heard it from Mary when he was scouting the castle for the map. As a rat.

“You’re a very strange person James Potter,” she says, but there’s a smile on her lips so it must not be that bad. “But the flowers are lovely. I love roses, cliché as it might be.”

James internally preens. Outwardly, he clears his throat.

“Shall we go in then?” he asks. He offers an arm, just like his Dad taught him how to do.

She takes his arm, looking more than a little pleased and together, they walk into Madam Pudifoot’s.

“Who’s idea was it to go to Madam Pudifoot’s?” She asks when they’ve found a quiet alcove and ordered their butterbeers. “Because no offense Potter, but this really doesn’t seem like a place you’d think off.”

“Oi!” James says. He’s not really offended. “What does that mean?”

She shrugs, unconcerned.

“Your not really the traditionally romantic type,” she says.  “The other times you asked me on dates, it’s either to the lake or the edges of the forest.”

“They’re interesting,” James says.

“They are,” she agrees. “But this is more my type of place for a date.”

“Wait does this mean you would have said yes if I asked you to go to this places?!”

“Not really,” she says. “We were fifteen and you were being an arse the second time.”

“Point,” James says. “So why’d you say yes now?”

“You surprised me,” she says. “And you weren’t an arse anymore, and I like this place. And maybe I wanted to go on a date with you. So come on, tell me, who picked it?”

“Sirius.” He very pointedly does not focus on the other part of her statement, for his own piece of mind.

If by picked, she meant that Sirius practically shoving him towards the place and assuring him a dozen times that, yes, she will love this place. James mentally tells himself to thank Sirius later.

She laughs. It sounds a lot like bells. James can’t help but be fascinated by it. Her red hair seems darker in this light. There is a red heart behind them and the roses by her side are red. The two of them are sporting red scarves. It’s entirely too much red and James can’t bring himself to be offended by it.

“I knew it,” she says gleefully. “Dorcas owes me three Galleons.”

“I can’t believe you had so little faith in me.”

“Don’t be like that.” She nudges his arm and James can’t help but wonder if she knows what she’s doing to him. Given how clever she is, and that mischievous glint in her eye, she probably does and is enjoying every single moment of it. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” James says. “And I can tell you really liked the roses.”

She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by their butterbeer arriving. She takes one in her hand and takes a long sip.

“I did,” she says after a long time. “People always give me lilies.”

“You prefer roses, though,” James says. “You’re—What’s the term Mary said? A closet romantic?”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise for the second time.

“I don’t think I want to know how you knew that,” she says.

“I don’t think I want to tell you,” James says.

“Then we’re agreed.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “It was when I was a kid. Me and my sister would always watch these old muggle films. Audrey Hepburn, Debbie Reynolds, the lot. They were the most beautiful girls, you know. Perfect skin, lovely hair, the most amazing singing voices. And they’d fall in love with the most charming men in the unlikeliest ways. Like a fairytale romance. There was that one film where they were in Romania—And you don’t have an idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

James shakes his head.

“I know what films are,” he says. “Remus and Sirius dragged us to see one in the summer, but I don’t know what the other things are. The things we saw, they’re not exactly romantic.”

There had been a lot of explosions. And shirtless men. And there were beautiful women but they were always crying or passing out in the arms of the shirtless men. Not exactly the stuff of romances.

She smiles.

“I didn’t think they’d be,” she says. “Maybe we could see one over summer. Just the two of us. You’d finally get to see what true romance is like. Not that nonsense your friends drag you to see.”

James heart skips a beat at the casual way she says  _‘just the two of us’,_ like this occurrence is definitely going to happen again. He doesn’t know what emotion’s coursing through his veins but it makes him feel a little light-headed.

“I’d like that,” he manages to force out. She smiles at him, eyes so very bright.

“Great.” Her hands creep up to take his. It’s warm and very, very sure. “I’m having a wonderful time James, if that isn’t very clear.”

“I’m glad,” James says. His hand is sweaty but she doesn’t pull away from it. “I’m having a great time, too.”

Her red hair falls against his shoulder as she leans in closer. James barely even notices the red of her lips as it presses against his own. He tastes the sweet scent of butterbeer.

Red. James may just learn how to love it all over again.

 


	7. Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars whisper but their secrets are not Hermione’s to hear. She has learned to be resigned to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger  
> Ship: pre-romione
> 
> for the harrypotternetwork event: Hermione Granger: The Brightest Witch of her age
> 
> * * *
> 
> _and probably a million leaves_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _sailed on their strange stalks_
> 
>  
> 
> _as the crickets ticked together_
> 
>  
> 
> _and I, in my brand new body,_
> 
>  
> 
> _which was not a woman’s yet,_
> 
>  
> 
> _told the stars my questions_
> 
>  
> 
> _and thought God could really see_
> 
>  
> 
> _the heat and the painted light,_
> 
>  
> 
> _elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight._

“Hermione?”

Hermione doesn’t turn from where she’s lying on the grass of the Weasley’s garden, eyes trained on the stars. She hears leaves and grass shifting as Ron takes a seat beside her. He sounds uncharacteristically gentle, like he’s treading on dangerous ground and knows it.

“You should probably go in now,” he says. “Mum says we have to leave early tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Hermione asks. “That we don’t know where we’re going?”

There are a million other things. A million other things that she wants cleared. Questions about the world and people and her own life as numerous as the stars in the sky.

Ron shrugs. She doesn’t see him shrug but she can sense it and her mind can see it. That’s the kind of statement that Ron would shrug about. He trusts very easily.

“Mum and Dad know what they’re doing,” he says. “And even if they didn’t, Dumbledore definitely does.”

Hermione hums. Dumbledore had come to the Burrow earlier, with Sirius and Professor Lupin in tow. He had said that dangerous times were coming and that he needed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s help. They hadn’t hesitated, of course, and tomorrow they’re leaving the Burrow for a place they don’t know.

Tomorrow, they’re leaving the Burrow for a place they don’t know.

“My parents are mad at me,” Hermione tells him. “They’re angry and upset. I don’t think I’ve been home for more than two weeks in the past year and well, that’s the sort of thing parents notice.”

“If you want to see your parents.” Ron sounds uncomfortable. Hesitant. The stars twinkle in a constant murmur above them, whispering secrets that Hermione can’t hear. “You can, you know. You don’t have to be here.”

“That’s the thing.” Hermione finally picks herself up from the grass. There was a time when she had gone stargazing with her dad. She remembers the names that sound like they came from a distant dream. “It’s just—I don’t think I do.” The last part comes out in a whisper. It’s a secret she hadn’t dared to reveal to herself until now.

“What do you mean?” Ron asks, brow furrowed.

“Ever since I came to Hogwarts, things have been… complicated between us.”

“You never told us you were having problems.”

Hermione shakes her head. “We weren’t,” she says. “It’s just… Things have become different, awkward almost. When I was a little girl, I was fully intent on becoming a lawyer, even had mock cases with my friends, and my parents were so proud that their little girl already knew what she wanted to do early on. Then my Hogwarts letter came and all of those plans just sort of fell apart. I don’t think they know what to make of me anymore, honestly.”

It’s hard, Hermione supposes, to have your daughter walk into completely uncharted territory without a hand to hold, and maybe a distant part of her understands this.

But then again, she doesn’t think she can quite forgive them for the way they started treating her differently. The way their eyes turn uncomfortable whenever they glance at everything she is now.

“I—Bloody hell Hermione, you should have told us what was happening,” Ron says. “We could have helped.”

Hermione turns away from him and back to the sky. It’s an uncharacteristically serious moment for the two of them. They are children, not even sixteen; wars and families and all those other things are for grown-ups. They shouldn’t be thinking about these things yet.

But then, this is an uncharacteristically serious time for everyone.

“And with everything that’s been going on,” she continues. “I suppose I’ve had more of an excuse to keep them at a distance.”

“You shouldn’t think like that,” Ron says. “They’re your parents. They’re family. You can’t just push them away.”

“A war’s coming,” Hermione says, eyes on the stars but body heavy on the earth. They are standing on the precipice of adulthood and it would take only a gentle nudge to push them over the edge. They are, all of them, too young.

Ron shifts uncomfortably. It’s a hard thing to acknowledge—a  _terrifying_ thing to even think about—but dark times are coming and they can’t afford the luxury of innocence anymore.

“A war’s coming,” Hermione repeats. “This is for the best.”

Ron leans into her, shoulders brushing against hers, his hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Hermione leans into him. The stars continue to murmur but their secrets are not hers to hear. She has learned to be resigned to that.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”


	8. Fairytale Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were two boys, from two very different worlds (the world of cold tradition and unforgiving regularity against one that burned in the fires of passion and acceptance) somehow meeting, and somehow fitting together with all their jagged edges and smooth lines.
> 
> They collided and perhaps, their worlds shattered because of it.
> 
> (‘That is what happens when two forces of nature—maelstroms of endless fury and power—come together. There is a moment of beauty. Then, everything falls apart.’)
> 
> This is how their story began…

Sit down next to me, child, and I’ll tell you a story.

Once upon a time—

(‘Why does everything have to start with once upon a time? That phrase doesn’t even make sense!’

‘Hush, child. Listen and you’ll understand. For this story, you’ll understand why it had to start once upon a time.’)

Once upon a time, there were two boys. One had grey eyes like an oncoming storm and the other had hazel, the exact shade of the setting sun.

(‘Two boys? But that’s not how these stories are supposed to go.’

‘It’s really not, is it? But nonetheless…’)

The two boys had many dreams and had many fears. One had more dreams and the other had more fears but that doesn’t matter. They were two boys and that’s what’s important. They danced around each other like two planets orbiting each other in one constant, steady motion. They had no need for a sun, no need for anything greater than themselves. They were already great. What one lacked, the other had. What the one wanted, the other was. They circled each other in eternal balance.

This is how their story ends—

(‘Ends? You haven’t even started! What about the beginning?’

‘Well for these two the end is the beginning and the beginning is the end.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Maybe not, but that’s how the story goes.’)

It ends with a broken man—and he  _was_ a man by that time. He had been since—we’ll get to that later—falls into death with a smile on his face. If anyone had asked him at that exact moment what he had felt and why he had smiled, he’d say that he’d heard a laugh like the deep rumble of earth and had finally glimpsed the setting sun after years of being trapped in the dark. He’d say that he felt like he was being reborn.

But there was an end even before that. An end when a man with eyes like the setting sun told his wife to run and took his last breath. A child gained a lightning shaped scar and a war ended—

But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? That’s a beginning to another story. Not the one I’m telling you.

And somewhere in the middle, our two boys were glorious.

(‘Remember that, child. Beginnings start with ends and ends start with beginnings but it’s what’s in-between you have to remember. That time when they had just come into themselves but not quite over the edge. Promise you’ll remember that child. Promise me.’

‘I will.’)

But we are in the middle and it’s also in the middle where everyone starts to fall.

(‘Tell me child, how do people fall?’

‘Well, when they slip up, I suppose.’

‘No child. When someone slips, they have a chance of catching themselves, or someone else can catch them. No, people only fall when they remember that they can’t fly.’)

They were young, you see, and the youth do have their ways of being great all on their own. It is the time for greatness, you see. Of rising past what old men expected of them. Of coming into their own and bursting into bloom and deciding for themselves exactly who they wanted to be.

They were young, and in their youth they laughed and cried and loved and lived.

And for a moment—one glorious, shining moment—they stood at the top of the world (a world filled with laughing green eyes, friendships forged to eternity. Of late nights wandering the castle and kisses stolen in abandoned corridors. A moment that rang with the sounds of curses as good seemed to triumph over evil). For one moment, they were gods.

And then the end came. And then they fell.

(‘What? What happened?!’

‘The reason is very simple, child: they grew up.’)

It was never very great, contrary to what the other stories tell. It was simple. A simple secret, hidden away.

It was a time when doubt was rapidly creeping in. The two boys encircled each other, tighter and tighter, pushed together by the world falling apart around them. Close enough to nearly collide  ~~to nearly touch~~  and a secret was whispered, but to the wrong person.

And then everything fell.

And now we get to the beginning, and in a way, this is how their story ended.

There was once a boy with grey eyes, like an oncoming storm, and he feared many things.

This is what he feared: He feared the sound of curses flying through the air and the sound of splintering wood as it hits tender flesh. He feared pain and he feared grief and he feared everything else that came with it. He feared betrayal—

(‘Who’s betrayal? His or other people’s?’

‘Does it matter? Betrayal is betrayal, no matter where it comes from.’)

—and the crash of failure against his shoulders. But above all, he feared falling.

These are the things he knew: the shine of the sunset in someone’s eyes and the deep rumble of the earth when he laughed. He knew the weight of hands against his waist and the murmur of sweet nothing in his ears. He knew laughter as he ran through the woods, power coursing through his veins, feeling more alive than most of the world.

He knew that he was invincible.

(‘But there are two boys, aren’t they? What happened to the other one?’

‘Patience child. He will come soon enough.’)

Now, as you said, there was another boy. This boy had eyes the color of a setting sun and the deep rumble of the earth in his laughter. He is a boy with many dreams:

He dreams of standing above a crowd, a sword—or maybe it was a wand, I always forget—in his hand. He dreams of adventure, of defending the weak and of saving the world. He dreams of walking through the world and doing good for others. This boy dreams of being a being a hero.

This is another thing he dreams of: He dreams of a flash of red and green. Of soft freckles, and a cottage in a small town. Of a laughing child in his arms and a world at peace.

And this is what he has: He has three best friends and hundreds of regular friends. He has two parents who would have given him the sky if he had asked. He has a boy with grey eyes who would die for him and he would die for. He has magic at his fingertips, passed down in his bloodline since the beginning of time. He has the world and he would never notice.

And this is where the two boys are going: To a world that is tearing itself apart and rapidly falling into the hands of a madman. They are going to a world that will strip them of their childhoods and everything else they have.

(‘Their story starts in a train, of all places. When they had looked into each other’s eyes and  _knew and saw and felt_ what lay ahead of them.

“Hey there,” the boy with hazel eyes said. He held out his hand. “I’m James.”

“Sirius,” the other boy says, taking the offering. “Nice to meet you.”’)

They were two boys, from two very different worlds (the world of cold tradition and unforgiving regularity against one that burned in the fires of passion and acceptance) somehow meeting, and somehow fitting together with all their jagged edges and smooth lines.

They collided and perhaps, their worlds shattered because of it.

(‘That is what happens when two forces of nature—maelstroms of endless fury and power—come together. There is a moment of beauty. Then, everything falls apart.’)

This is how their story began…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka as the fic where i fail at experimental writing completely pt 2.  
> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Ship: James/Sirius


	9. Action, Indifferent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a visit he’s long since put off, but there is a niggling in the back of his mind that this is something he has to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Dudley Dursley  
> Ship: Hinny  
> Warning: References the Dursley's Abuse   
> For the harrypotternetwork event: Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived

The house is, oddly enough, exactly the same as he’d left it.

 Harry didn’t know what he’d expected to see, but to see it completely untouched is… disconcerting. So much has happened and it feels like an eternity has passed and the house is still somehow the same. Still as horribly mundane and unremarkable as what had been imprinted in his memory. The world feels so different now and it feels like the house should look different too.

 “You know you don’t have to be here,” Ginny tells him. She’s standing at his side, holding his hand in a vice grip. “They’re a horrible lot and should be left in the past.”

 Harry squeezes her hand. Ron and Hermione had offered to come as well, but they were too close to everything. They knew too much. Ginny did too, to an extent. But there is still a part of her that is separate from this aspect of this life. Most of what she knows of him is of the Harry of the Wizarding World, not the one who lived in the muggle world. And that’s why Harry asked her to come. She’s someone who knows who he really is and not what this place has made him.

 That, and the fact that she has an uncanny knack for knowing just what kind of comfort he needs.

 “Neither do you,” he points out.

 “Shut up,” Ginny says. “Of course I have to be here.”

 “So do I,” Harry says.

 He turns to look at her face just in time to see her jaw tightens. She squares her shoulders and says,

 “C’mon then. Let’s get this over and done with.”

 The smile on his lips feels almost genuine. Together, they walk towards the house. They’ve barely made it past the gate when the door is wrenched open. The man is standing at the doorway, eyes wide and breathing hard.

 “Harry,” he says.

 Harry forces the smile to stay on his lips. It suddenly feels stiff and brittle.

 “Hey Dudley.”

 ##

 Dudley wastes no time in inviting them inside, but not without a hasty explanation that his parents were out, something about meeting a client and whatnot. There is an awkwardness in the air that the three of them are pointedly ignoring.

 “This is Ginny by the way,” Harry says on their way to the living room. “My girlfriend.”

 Dudley starts a little at that. A part of him probably still only sees Harry as a gangly little kid who lives under the cupboard. He stares at Ginny like she’d grown another head. Ginny stares back at him stonily.

 “You look familiar,” Dudley says to her. “Like—” a look of dawning realization forms on his face. “The people who came by through the fireplace a few years ago,” he finishes in a near mumble.

 “My brothers and my dad,” she says shortly but Harry notices her lips twitching a little, clearly remembering that little fiasco. Harry has to bite his own cheek to keep a laugh from escaping his lips. It’s hard to remember that night without bursting out laughing.

 “Oh,” Dudley says.

 Ginny is back to glaring daggers at him but doesn’t say anything. Dudley appears not to notice, but his hand is twitching towards his back and he gulps, almost convulsively. He leads them towards the living room and Harry takes a moment to observe him. He’s gotten thinner, Harry notices. Not the thinness that comes from exercise or puberty. It’s a thinness borne out of sleepless nights because you know that there are dark things lurking out in the world. Harry is very familiar with the feeling.

 They’re seated on the couch and Dudley had disappeared into the kitchen to make some tea when Ginny finally speaks.

 “I’m trying to imagine him with a ten-foot tongue,” she says, “and I can’t quite do it. I still can’t believe Fred and George didn’t take me with them to see  _that._ ” Her voice catches on Fred’s name but there’s a genuine smile on her lips and there is laughter shining in her eyes.

 “It was probably the funniest thing I’d seen at the time,” Harry tells her. “You really missed a lot.”

 Ginny laughs quietly.

 “What I would have given to be the one to do that.” She looks over at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “I bet you would have, too.”

 “At the time, probably,” Harry admits. “Not so much now, though. We’re not really those kids anymore.”

 “No, we’re really not. Not anymore.”

 Dudley bursts out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Harry can’t help but eyeing the tea dubiously. In all his years, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen Dudley enter the kitchen except to stuff himself.

 Still, he takes a polite sip and is pleased to find that it’s not completely horrible.

 “The tea is nice,” he says. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Dud. Last time you tried to cook something, you nearly burned the entire house down.”

 Dudley’s cheeks redden.

 “Yeah well. You learn a lot when you’re stuck in one place with nothing else to do.”

 Harry feels Ginny tense under his hand. He nudges her quietly, telling her that it’s alright. He supposes that it would sound like a jibe from someone from the outside looking into his relationship with the Dursleys. But Harry’s lived with Dudley his entire life and he knows what his jibes actually sound like. He’s definitely a lot less subtle with them.

 Dudley seems to realize what he said because his eyes drop to the ground, and he mumbles something too soft for Harry’s ears.

 “I came to see if you were alright,” Harry says. “Daedalus told us that you were safe and settling in well, but…”

 He trails off. In truth, Harry doesn’t really know why he’s here. Daedalus had already assured him that they were alright and that should have been enough. The Dursleys were never his family, not really, and he already has the family he made surrounding him back in the Wizarding World. Daedalus’ words should have been enough.

 But for the longest time, they were the only people he had and for some reason it means something.

 (There still exists, in the deep recesses of his mind, a half-forgotten moment, too intangible to be real but too vivid to be a dream. Of sitting next to Dudley in a sun filled room and reaching out. He never quite remembers what it was he was reaching out for, but he remembers the sharp slap that pushes his hand away.

 He doesn’t remember who it was who pushed him away first, either.

 But after that. After the sharp slap and the inevitable tears that came after, there had been a moment of warmth. A moment that almost seemed comforting. He remembers sunlight falling down on his face and arms encircling his torso.

 Sometimes, a part of him wonders how much of it is true, and how much is just wishful thinking.)

 Dudley clears his throat. “We were fine. Nothing much happened, actually. It was mostly dull.”

 “That’s good.”

 “What about you?” Dudley asks. “Daedalus said that—there was a war and—”

 “He wasn’t very clear, was he?”

 Dudley shakes his head. “He wasn’t,” he says.

 There’s an odd feeling in Harry’s chest. Dudley almost sounded  _worried._ He’d been like that, since the dementors and it never fails to confound Harry. After years of bullying and torment, he doesn’t really know what to do about this change.

 “We’re fine Dudley,” he says. “The war’s over.”

 Dudley opens his mouth to say something when the front door creaks open and comfortable laughter rings through the halls. Harry tenses and whatever moment he had with Dudley shatters.

 “And then Mrs. Thomas jumps out of her skin and I say—”

 Vernon Dursley stops in his tracks and Harry doesn’t need to see the look on his face to know he’s not wanted. He’s already half out of his seat by the time they make it to the living room.

 “You!” He points a shaking finger towards Harry. “What are you—”

 “Don’t bother,” Harry says, cutting him off. “We were just leaving.”

 “You better be,” his uncle says.

 “Harry,” Ginny says. “You can’t be letting him chase you out of here.”

 “Let it go,” Harry says in an undertone. “They’re not worth it.”

 Ginny’s jaw tightens but she remains silent. Harry silently leads her to the door.

 “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here,” his uncle calls from behind him. “After all the grief that you’ve put us through.”

 Apparently, that was the last straw for Ginny. She wrenches her hand away from Harry and draws her wand. She turns to face his uncle.

 “You have no idea,” she says. Her wand arm is relaxed at her side but Harry knows that doesn’t mean anything. She can still curse you the moment it strikes her fancy. “You lot have no idea what’s been going on and what Harry’s been through—what we’ve all been through—and you have no right to talk about things you know  _nothing about._ ”

 Across from her, Dudley looks like a frightened animal, and at his uncle’s side, his aunt is refusing to meet his eyes. His uncle stands in a pathetically mundane house that holds no trace that a boy with green eyes and a lightning scar lived there, like he is at the top of the world and he is its king. Like he’s still the most powerful person in the room. Harry is telling the truth. They aren’t worth it.

 He gently tugs on Ginny’s arm and says,

 “Come on, let’s go.”

 “Harry—”

 “They’re not worth it, Ginny.”

 Ginny turns to him for a moment, eye searching. Harry stares resolutely back. Then, she relaxes and lets herself be pulled away. They’re outside a moment later. The house still looks exactly the same.

 “I’m sorry for blowing up back there,” Ginny mutters. “It’s just—I think I might hate that family more than you do and it’s ridiculous. I’ve never even met them. Merlin how did you even deal with them for fifteen—”

 Harry smiles and kisses her. It feels like the right thing to do. The Dursleys are far, far away; trapped in Harry’s past and Harry’s memories. Ginny, standing before him now, she’s his future. She’s what matters. Ginny and Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Wizarding World that’s waiting for him to return, they are what matters to him. Not anything else.

 When he pulls away from the kiss, Ginny looks surprised.

 “What was that for?” she asks.

 “I love you,” he says. “You’re amazing and I love you so much.”

 “You are right about that,” Ginny says with a smile of her own. “And you know what?”

 “What?”

 “I think I love you, too.”

 Harry smiles and it feels genuine. The sun is warm on his face and there are strong hands holding onto him. The moment is real, and it is enough.


	10. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a strange sight, James thinks, or at least the part of him that’s still capable of thinking past the numbness that’s blanketed all of them for the past few days. And not one he’d ever thought to see.
> 
> Sirius is a Black and if there’s one thing they’re known for, it’s their pride. He doesn’t look proud now. He looks broken and beaten and James hates that he has the power to do this to Sirius. Hates that they came to this when everything before had been so fucking easy.
> 
> It’s a strange kind of pain, seeing Sirius like this. A pain that longs for more, if it means that Sirius would be better. If it means that he wouldn’t look at James like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Warnings: Panic attacks. This fic is just one big panic attack, basically. Please tread carefully.

It’s a strange sight, James thinks, or at least the part of him that’s still capable of thinking past the numbness that’s blanketed all of them for the past few days thinks. And not one he’d ever thought to see.

Sirius is a Black and if there’s one thing they’re known for, it’s their pride. He doesn’t look proud now. He looks broken and beaten and James hates that he has the power to do this to Sirius. Hates that they came to this when everything before had been so fucking  _easy._

It’s a strange kind of pain, seeing Sirius like this. A pain that longs for more, if it means that Sirius would be better. If it means that he wouldn’t look at James like that.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says.

And it would be so easy to say that it’s alright. That he’s forgiven and that James doesn’t hate him anymore, Merlin knows it’s what they both want to hear. It would be the answer to take all that pain and heartbreak away from Sirius’ face. But it would be a lie and James doesn’t want to lie to Sirius. That would be the worst kind of betrayal at all. He remains silent.

Sirius takes the silence for what it really means, which he is wont to do. His eyes take on a wild edge. He’s sitting in front of James but something in his posture almost makes it seem like he’s kneeling. Like a subject, begging mercy for mercy from his king. James really doesn’t appreciate that metaphor.

James remains silent.

Remus had taken him aside earlier. He’d forgiven Sirius, god knows why, but he has. James shouldn’t have a reason to be angry anymore. When it’s all said and done, this is about Remus and Sirius, not him. He has no right to be angry on his own.

He still is, though.

“You lied to us,” James says.

Sirius’ mouth parts.

“James…”

“No,” James says. “You lied to us. You promised. You said that you would—”

“I know and I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

James wants to ask what he’s sorry about. Wants to know if Sirius is sorry about the right things or if he’s begging for something because of a need he can’t temper. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer.

“Don’t do it again,” he says. “Don’t ever dare lie to us again.” Don’t ever dare lie to me again.

And Sirius nods fervently and James’ knows he understands what he meant. His entire body jerks forward, like he wants to reach out, but thinks better of it. Looking like this, with his wild eyes and disheveled hair, he looks more than a little mad.

“I won’t,” Sirius says. “I swear.”

There is pain in his voice, like a penance. James knows that the look he gives him offers no relief.

–

The things you learn in war, Sirius has come to realize, are the things you never want to fucking know.

The sound of a skull cracking against the stone pavement is very distinct. A scream of pain, on the other hand, tends to blur together after a while. They disappear into the air in much the same way, high-pitched and strong at first but then slowly, slowly losing strength. No one can go on forever, after all.

(All pain blurs together after a while, conglomerating in an indistinct haze. It stops mattering if it came from curses or broken bones or from the water slowly claiming your lungs as you try to claw your way back to the surface. Pain is pain. Nothing else matters after that.)

How he manages to make it home is a mystery. He remembers being lost, finding his way into a hole he couldn’t climb out of. It had been all over the papers—A body found on the beach, drowned, it had said, and the picture was too familiar, too recognizable and something he never wanted to see. He found out through the  _papers._ Sirius’ fists clench at the mere thought because how dare they? How dare they keep this from him—and Sirius remembers drowning. Gasping for air but never quite getting enough. The world’s colors started blending together and blurring at the edges and it  _didn’t matter._ All Sirius knew was that he needed to get away and he needed to move. Whatever he came here to find (and how can he not remember? It had been important, once upon a time) it can wait.

He crashes through the doors of their apartment, feet unsteady. Like a drunk man.

James is sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

Sirius opens his mouth, maybe to tell him that he’s not drunk. He could be but he’s not. A part of him wonders if he tried to be, if he had been on his way to do just that when he found out. Maybe. It would seem like him.

(He doesn’t need to be drunk now. He’s already drowned. Like that body on the beach, its picture plastered on the fourth page of the prophet and god how could—)

He opens his mouth to say all of these things and all that comes out is a sob. James’ arms are around him an instant later and Sirius shakes. His entire being is trying to vibrate out of his skin and he’s not too sure he wants to stop it.

“He’s gone,” Sirius says. The words take whatever breath he has left. His heart is clawing its way out of his chest and Sirius almost wants to let it.

James’ arms tighten around him. “I know,” he says.

At that, Sirius shatters.

–

There is nothing beautiful about this sort of crying. The crying that comes with big, fat tears, and gasping breaths and lasts for hours on end, without reprieve. The kind that leaves you sick the morning after, as if the sadness you’re feeling isn’t enough. You also have to face your body rebelling against you from too much grief and too much water lost in too short a time.

Sirius is pressed against his chest. His entire body is shaking and for a wild moment, James wonders if this is his soul’s attempt to find the peace it’s longed for but never given.

(But no, Sirius would never do that. He might be a lot of things but he’s never been the kind to run away. At least not in James’ memory.

But then again, James never could have imagined Sirius could cry like this in his entire life. Sirius had always been cold, almost indomitable, like a snowstorm’s fierce wind. There is nothing indomitable about the way he looks now.

Maybe James didn’t know him as well as he thought.)

There are words lodged in James’ throat; words he can’t say. White lies that people say to make others feel better. Those kind of things never worked on Sirius. He’s been lied to and manipulated all his life. What he needs is the truth, no matter how sharp and unforgiving. What he needs is for someone to pick him back up when it inevitably breaks him.

Sounds erupt from Sirius, as if he’s trying to escape this grip his grief has on him. It’s harsh and animalistic, like Padfoot’s growl when Prongs accidentally steps on his tail. Out of the three of them, Sirius had always seemed to be closer to his Animagus form, just on this side of not quite feral.

“Breathe,” James says. “Just breathe.”

“I don’t think I can,” Sirius manages to gasp out.

“Breathe,” James says.

Sirius sucks in air like his life depended on it and maybe it did. His breathing is ragged and shaky, like he’s forgotten how to.

James holds onto him and wills him to remember.

–

Waking up after a night spent crying is probably one of the worst feelings Sirius will ever have the chance of experiencing. Like getting a hangover but without the ignorant bliss that alcohol gifts you the night before. It’s its own way of intoxication, but there is no relief with crying. Only pain multiplied to a thousand.

And maybe Sirius is still drunk on it. It certainly feels like it. He feels light-headed and heavy at the same time, and there’s bile rising up the back of his throat. The world is blurry and doesn’t quite feel real.

Beside him, James is fast asleep. Exhausted, after what Sirius put him through. The sight makes guilt settle heavily on his stomach. His memory of the night before is non-existent other than the constant pain in his chest and gasping for breath because there is not enough air and the hot, sticky feeling of what must be gallons and gallons of tears running down his cheeks. Sirius can imagine what it must’ve felt like, being witness to all that, though. It can’t have been easy. Especially not for James.

James likes to think he can take all the problems of the world on his shoulders; all of  _Sirius’_ problems on his shoulders, he tends to forget that he’s just a spoiled, little kid who can still make himself believe fairytales like hope and love and family.

It’s one of the many (endless) things Sirius loves about the man but it may also be one of the things that makes him want to run far, far away.

“I’m sorry,” he says to James. He shows no sign of waking anytime soon. “I’m so sorry for last night.”

James turns, his eyelids fluttering anxiously, and there’s a pained look on his face. It’s almost as if he’s sensing the grief and turmoil that’s going through Sirius’ head. Knowing James, some part of him probably does.

“I scared you and I’m sorry,” Sirius says.

He wants to promise James that it won’t happen again. That he’ll be better next time. That he won’t turn up at the apartment they share at midnight, shaking and crying like a lost child. He wants to promise that by the time James wakes up, Sirius will have put himself back together in such a way that he won’t shatter into a million pieces all over again everytime something mildly horrible happens or someone he ca—someone he knows dies. They’re in a war and something horrible always happens and people die all the time. Sirius wants to promise James that he won’t need him anymore to piece him back together.

He probably could. Sirius could force out the words and James would smile thinly at him. It would be a pale imitation of what he would look like if he were truly happy but it would be a smile nonetheless. James’ smiles are Sirius’ sun; something he’ll never get enough of.

But they would both know it would be a lie and there will come a night, maybe tomorrow, maybe a week from now, maybe even a month if they’re lucky when Sirius will find himself broken and only James’ touch can piece his sharp edges back together.

Sirius made a promise to James once, when he was still fifteen and stupid, and it’s not a promise he regrets.

It’s not one he ever intends on breaking, either.


	11. Dying Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many words that can be used to describe Sirius Black, James thinks, idly tracing the soft curve of Sirius’ back, but gentle is not one of them. Angry maybe, irrational, wrathful. The kinder ones would call him impulsive, passionate. He is made of jagged edges pieced together to form something resembling humanity. He has never been gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Ship: James/Sirius  
> Warnings: references to child abuse

Looking like this, with his haughty features soft and relaxed, he almost looks gentle, James can’t help but think. He looks like the boy no one believed him to be.

 There are many words that can be used to describe Sirius Black, James thinks, idly tracing the soft curve of Sirius’ back, but gentle is not one of them. Angry maybe, irrational, wrathful. The kinder ones would call him impulsive, passionate. He is made of jagged edges pieced together to form something resembling humanity. He has never been gentle.

 Sirius Black is a hurricane trapped in the shell of a sixteen-year-old boy. His eyes are its harsh winds, turbulent and constant at the same time. The curve of his mouth is its icy air. His hands are the fierce rain, lithe, heavy, and strong enough to bruise. His skin is the storm clouds; cool and barely holding back its own indescribable fury.

 But now his features  _are_ gentle, like the small boy he never was. They are in bed and Sirius is fast asleep. Worn out, James thinks wryly. His features are soft, relaxed, and free of the worries and anger and masks that Sirius puts on and discards so easily. It is easy to forget that underneath his turbulent personality and haughty features, Sirius Black is a child. Sometimes, James thinks that he’s entirely too big for Hogwarts.

 They are all children. All of them. Children too big for this school, so close to going out in a world that would not be able to hold them.

 (They are great. James knows this since the moment he opened his eyes and learned of his own existence. They are great and it is terrifying to think that one day, they will be too great for the world.

 That’s how you make the martyrs of this world.)

 James presses a kiss to Sirius’ dark curls. It is gentle in the way Sirius would never allow if he were awake. Whatever it is between them, it is not gentle.

 “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you more than you could ever know.”

 The words had been on the tip of his tongue for months now, never quite making it out. They had never been like that. There is no room for heartfelt confessions for what they have. No room for softness. They are the two ragged edges of two forces of nature that were never meant to meet. That is their miracle: that they work when everything around them tells them the opposite. They work because they are equals, both exceptional in their own right; they are each other’s perfect match. To confess something so deep, so personal, would be to concede that they have vulnerabilities.

 Everything would fall apart if either of them is anything less than invincible. Whatever they may like to believe, they’re already on such fragile ground as it is. What they have remains undefined because to define it would be to needlessly contain it. It is an infinity and to acknowledge it is a tarnish in itself.

 He traces the smooth line of Sirius’ back. Hands moving across porcelain skin, and there is a map there. A map of stars, Sirius always calls it when he’s drunk or maudlin or both. Sirius has always  _hated_ stars.

 (Stars had always meant pain for him. Stars are expectations that can never be met and a world that  _burns._ )

 A map of his life, James would always call it in words unsaid. Islands created by curses and continents born out of defiance. James can’t bring himself to regret any of it. Sirius is Sirius and greatness has always been forged in fire.

 Sirius’ skin is made of porcelain but it is not perfect. It is smooth but speckled with all that he’s been through. It is not fragile. There is strength borne out of pain. James’ bravery is born out of generations of Potters telling him that he is good enough, Sirius’ bravery is born out of a fire kindled by a life of endless resentments.

 There is a strength in that, James thinks. A strength that his own brand of bravery can never compare to. A strength born out of hate.

 “I love you,” he says again, more clearly this time. If Sirius can be brave then so can he. Maybe in this way, James can be brave for Sirius. “I love you.”

 But it is not enough. James knows that it is not enough. Love is a fickle thing and they are anything but. What they have between them will find a way to transcend lifetimes if they willed it.

 Love is complicated and messy, and what they have is simple. They are what they are, and when everything else falls away, each other is what they have left. It shouldn’t be enough, but it always is.

 Underneath his hand, Sirius stirs. His eyelids flicker and his mouth curves downward. The gentleness and youth in his features melts away as if it had never been there. Sirius is Sirius and he is not gentle. James presses another kiss to his temple, savoring the feeling while it’s still allowed.

 “James,” Sirius mumbles.

 “I’m here,” James says. There is a strange feeling in his chest, an odd mixture of fear and excitement. If Sirius had heard him then everything they have may fall apart, but if Sirius had heard…

 “James,” Sirius says again. “I—”

 “Yeah?” James asks. Sirius turns to face him, staring into James’ soul with his piercing grey eyes. His eyes speak words that his mouth will never admit to.

 “Yeah,” he says. The fear in James’ heart melts away. Somehow, Sirius is enough. Somehow, Sirius has always been enough. James presses a kiss to Sirius’ lips and Sirius lets him. They are soft and warm.

 “James,” Sirius says when they pull away. He is breathing hard and there is something unnameable in his eyes. Something more than the usual storm. Something almost… serene. It is enough, James thinks. What they have is more than enough. “Kiss me again.”

 And James does. Gladly.


	12. prongsfoot goes to the muggle world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two boys go traipsing around Muggle London. That's it. That's the fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Relationship: James/Sirius
> 
> Fill for a prompt:  
> anon asked: Those two sneaking out to Muggle London and hearing the amazing music, discovering forms of transportation (like the motorcycle!), and enjoying the nightlife? Maybe here in the Muggle world, they will have the nerve to reveal their feelings for each other.
> 
> The fic did not go the way the prompter wanted.

James had been in a bad mood all morning and Sirius has just had about enough of it.

After the hundredth time where he caught James glaring at his desk, he’d seized him by the sleeve and called off to Moody that they were leaving early. He hadn’t waited for a reply, just apparated James and himself out of there before anyone could do anything about it.

James in a bad mood was absolutely unacceptable.

That had been twenty minutes ago. Sirius had apparated without really thinking about it and it had led them to muggle London. It’s not the worst places to be, all things considered.

“Where are we going?” James asks dully.

Sirius pulls James towards a muggle music store.

“We’re touring muggle London and you don’t get to complain,” he says.

“Okay.”

Sirius blinks. A wave of frustration washes over him because James is still being ridiculous and off and it’s putting Sirius on edge.

##

The muggle music store is brightly lit. There are shelves upon shelves of those round, black discs that somehow play music. Sirius never really understood the concept behind it.

Once they entered the store, James wrenches his arm free and begins wandering, picking discs at random.

“This group is stupid. They misspelled ‘beetles’,” James says flatly. “And what are they even dressed as? Sheep?”

“I like their music,” Sirius says. “And they didn’t misspell it. It’s a pun, James. Aren’t you supposed to be good at that?”

James shoots him a glare.

“They have a song called ‘I Am the Walrus’,” he says. “I can’t possibly imagine a non-idiotic reason for that title.”

“What’s wrong James?”

“Apart from the fact that this band is stupid—”

“ _James._ ”

“Nothing,” James says, defiant.

“Fine,” Sirius says. “Be that way, but we’re going around London until you get your head straight.”

“There’s nothing to set straight,” James says.

And yeah, Sirius really doesn’t believe him.

##

“What do you think is better, the Indian or the Harley?”

“I don’t know,” James says. “Can we go now?”

“Are you ready to tell me what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

Sirius shrugs, turning back to the display.

“I think I like the Harley better, just ‘cause it’s bigger.”

“Padfoot, c’mon mate, leave it!”

James is tugging at Sirius’ arm, and Sirius knows without seeing that his eyes frantically scanning the crowd but Sirius refuses to be swayed. What he’s looking at is true perfection.

“We’ve been here for hours already,” James says, undoubtedly to convince Sirius to move away from what he’s convinced is his soulmate. It’s almost as if he doesn’t know Sirius’ own brand of stubbornness.

“Don’t exaggerate. It’s barely been one.”

James groans again, tugging on Sirius’ arm. Sirius wants to tell him that the overdramatic sounds that are escaping James’ mouth are what’s drawing muggle attention, and not their clothes.

“It’s nearly midnight mate,” James says. “I’m exhausted.”

“We’re not going home until—”

“For Merlin’s sake! You’ve already had me staring at ducks for hours and we ate that disgusting thing—corndog, Sirius? Really—and I’m exhausted and can’t we just go home? We’re not even supposed to be here. The muggles have been staring at us all day.”

“Come on, James,” he says easily. He presses his nose to the glass window that’s separating him from the motorcycle of their dreams. He’s caught a few people stealing curious glances towards them, but James is definitely overreacting. It’s almost as if he’s not used to being the center of attention. “Since when did you care about breaking the law?”

“Since we might actually get caught!”

Sirius forces himself to pull away from the glass pane and turn to James.

“You’re actually worried,” he says.

“We’re two trainee Aurors in the middle of London wearing these ridiculous robes,” James says, like he’s talking to a small child. “It’s a clear breach of the International Statue of Secrecy and aren’t we supposed to be following the rules now?”

“Hey, James. C’mon.” Sirius puts a hand on James’ arm. “We’re in London. Witches and wizards walk around here all the time. I promise that most Londoners wouldn’t even blink.” At James’ skeptical look he adds, “But if you’re really so worried.” He reaches out and unclasps James’ cloak. He removes his own as well and hides them away. Sirius had forgotten that they were, in fact, wearing bright, scarlet robes. “Worst comes to worst, they’ll think we’re circus performers or something.”

“What’s that?”

Sirius shrugs. “No idea,” he says. “It was in a muggle book. Apparently they look outrageous.” He tugs at James’ arm. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. I know some place that’ll cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up.”

Sirius snorts, not believing James in the slightest. He pulls James into a back alley, away from prying eyes.

“What about…” James nods to the glass pane. The motorcycle Sirius is having dreams about is still there, quietly tempting him. Sirius shrugs again.

“Well, it’ll still be there tomorrow, won’t it?” he says. “Besides, the store’s closed and I’ll buy it when I understand how muggle money actually works.”

James laughs quietly, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Sirius grins back at him and they begin walking.

“So where to, Padfoot?”

There’s the glum tone again, only now it’s also half-mocking, like James is daring him. He only brings that tone out when he’s really, really annoyed at Sirius. Sirius summons up the last dredges of his patience.

“James Potter,” Sirius says. “I am about to introduce you to The Club and I am going to get you drunk.”

##

The club is loud and chaotic and absolutely  _wild._

“I can imagine why this place’ll cheer you up,” James shouts, voice barely audible through the loud drums and—Sirius isn’t even sure what instrument that’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s just screaming. Muggle music is absolutely fascinating that way.

“It’s a great place to get lost in,” Sirius agrees. He’s not sure James hears him. He leads James to the bar.

“Surprise us,” he tells the bartender. The bartender’s eyebrows shoot in surprise but he nods.

“I really hate this music,” James says.

“It’s classical!”

“It’s annoying,” James says. “It’s loud and full of screaming and I don’t understand a word of it.”

That’s it. Sirius has had enough. He tried being the nice and supportive best friend but that obviously didn’t work out, so he goes for what he always does when he’s frustrated. He hits James over the head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Ow! For the love of—Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“Well you’ve been a prat the entire day and—”

Sirius cuts himself off because the music has somehow gotten louder and James is obviously not hearing a word he says. Behind him, the bartender sets down their drinks.

Sirius takes his and downs it in one go, barely even tasting it.

“You know what? Fine,” he says. “Be an ass. I’m going dancing.”

He doesn’t wait for James to reply—he clearly hadn’t heard Sirius—just heads over to the dance floor. If there’s one good thing that Sirius can say about muggles (and he can say a lot of good things) it’s that they’ve done away with the ridiculous repression and traditionalism that wizards seem to value. Robes and cloaks, honestly.

A hand catches his arm.

Sirius turns and sees James’ mouth forming words but he doesn’t hear them.

He sighs and pulls James away from the club’s chaos and into a quiet alcove. For some reason, James is refusing to cooperate with all of Sirius’ attempts to cheer him up from the unusual slump he’d found himself in.

The alcove is small, and they’re standing too close to each other, their noses almost touching.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius says.

James doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Nothing,” he says.

Sirius crosses his arms over his chest. He waits.

“It’s just—” James cuts himself off, and in the colorful lights of the club, it might even look like he’s blushing slightly. “You’re gonna think I’m stupid.”

“I’m already thinking that, mate.”

“It’s just. You’re really leaving the Aurors?”

Sirius blinks.

“Well yeah,” he says. “The Prophet gave me a job, remember? I told you that ages ago, didn’t I?”

It’s not a big thing, really. Sirius wanted to be an Auror when he left Hogwarts because James wanted to be an Auror. Now that he’s an Auror-in-training, he’s realized that he really does not want to be an Auror. He’d much rather talk about Quidditch than run around catching a never ending series of criminals.

“So we won’t be able to spend a lot of time with each other, anymore?”

“Is that what today’s about?” Sirius says. “You’re going to miss me and you couldn’t say that out loud like a proper person?”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, just let me get this straight one more time. You’re in a bad mood because you won’t get to spend as much time with me so you spent an entire day where we’re supposed to spend time with each other being a broody idiot.”

James smacks him on the arm. To be fair, Sirius probably deserved that.

“You’re a prat,” James says.

“You know we’ll still be living together, right?” Sirius says. “And we’ll still be going to the same Order meetings. Hell, the Prophet’s just in Diagon Alley and you’ll probably end up going there more often than my editor would like.”

“I told you it was stupid,” James says.

Sirius swallows, feeling a sudden rush of affection. James is being his classical, awkward self, as per usual.

“It’s your last day on Friday,” James says. “I just wanted to say—”

“Wait.” Sirius looks around. The club is loud and distracting and not the place for what Sirius is currently feeling. “Come on, one last stop.”

“Can’t we just go home?” James says. “You’ve dragged me all over London already.”

“James.”

“Fine.”

The faint pop of apparition couldn’t even be heard past the music.

##

The Tower Bridge is one of Sirius’ favorite places in London.

“How do you even know muggle London so well?” James asks. “I would’ve thought your parents would have kept you away from all of it.”

“It’s as if you don’t know me at all James,” Sirius says. “I  _snuck out._ ”

“That makes sense,” James says. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It is,” Sirius says. “I snuck out here when I was a kid once. Thought I’d just jump into the river to get away from my family. Didn’t really get the mechanics of running away back then. So what were you gonna say?”

“Just—It feels like everything’s changing—”

“Nothing’s gonna change,” Sirius cuts him off. “I’ll still be here and—”

James cuts him off by slamming his lips against Sirius’. It’s nothing more than a quick peck but James is completely red when he pulls away.

“It feels like everything’s changing between us,” James says.

Sirius takes James’ hand and studies it. His lips were soft but forceful, a lot like James.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” he says.

James looks up and there’s hope in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you made me drag you all over muggle London when I could have just kissed you,” Sirius says.

“I liked it,” James says. “I mean I was acting like an ass but I liked watching you. You looked happy.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Sirius says. And James does.


	13. luna/cho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what this is supposed to be, tbh.
> 
> Characters: Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood  
> Ship: Onesided Cho/Luna
> 
> Warnings: references to bullying. Also unrequited love.

People don’t like Luna.

They find her odd, air-headed, sometimes her words don’t make sense and sometimes they make too much sense, bringing out uncomfortable truths that people always elect to ignore. She sees things people want to keep hidden and does things everyone else is too afraid to try.

Cho loves her for it.

She watches Luna—brave, sweet, darling Luna who never looked at her differently. Who’s never said an unkind word to her. Not even after Marietta—sit alone in the Common Room, content, maybe not all there, happy, but at the same time, so, so lonely.

If Cho were a braver girl, she’d probably go over to her. If Cho were a braver girl, she probably wouldn’t keep these feelings—this love. Because that’s what it is. It’s love, plain and simple—to herself. If she were a braver girl, she’d tell Luna Lovegood how beautiful and amazing and wonderful she is and how much Cho adores her.

But Cho isn’t a brave girl, never has been. The last time she was, the last time she confessed and gave in to the beating of her own heart, Cedric had died and had left her alone.

Cho is a girl trapped by fear and expectations and rules. Her parents work for the ministry and they were in Ravenclaw and they want the same thing for her. There’s no time to dream, not when there’s the future to think of. There’s no time to be in an army when she has to think carefully about each step she makes.

Luna isn’t like that. Luna is brave. Luna flies, free as any bird, soaring towards the impossible.

And Cho can only watch from the ground. She has to be content with that


	14. Dean/Seamus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan  
> Ship: Deamus

Dean traces the contours of Seamus’ body—a body he hadn’t seen in months—and commits every line to memory.

Seamus doesn’t wake up. He’s always been a heavy sleeper and all of them had had the most exhausting day. A war had just ended and they all needed their rest but Dean can’t find sleep. Seamus is there, right before his eyes, and he hadn’t thought he’d be able to see those lines and that body and that particular shade of pink lips and pale cheeks and dark freckles ever again.

His fingers are itching to reach for a pencil, a quill, something to capture this sleeping form and immortalize it on paper, but Dean stops himself. It would break the moment, he knows. Some things are better committed to memory, anyway.

Dean stops his hands when a pair of blue eyes blink up blearily at him.

“What’ya doing?” Seamus murmurs.

“Watching you,” Dean says. “I’ve missed you.”

Seamus doesn’t laugh and make a joke like he would have done a year ago. It’s strangely comforting, though Dean hadn’t thought it would be. They’ve both changed a lot over the past year. Now’s there chance to find each other all over again.

Instead, Seamus pulls Dean by the shirt and presses their lips together for a long, deep kiss.

“I missed you too,” Seamus says when they pull away. “I missed you so much. Should have come with you when I had the chance.”

“No,” Dean says. “You were needed here.”

Seamus sighs, pressing their foreheads together.

“And I needed you here,” he says.

“We’re here now. Both of us,” Dean says.

He doesn’t quite see Seamus’ smile, but he feels it and he sees it with his mind’s eye. He sees the way Seamus’ eyes crinkle and the way his cheeks dimple. Dean wants to trace every last freckle and paint the constellation of Seamus’ soul.

Seamus pulls away first and Dean already misses the warmth of his breath even before he loses it.

“I tried to draw you, you know,” Seamus says.

Dean stares. Then, because he can’t help himself and because of everything that’s happened, he lets out a snort of laughter.

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not,” Dean says, trying to keep a straight face. “I swear I’m not. I just can’t imagine you drawing. Last I heard, you can’t even draw a straight line.”

Seamus huffs but he takes Dean’s hand so he must not be that angry.

“I know that, but it was worth a shot, right.” He hesitates, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. Dean squeezes his hand and remains silent. Seamus says,

“You said that that’s what you did when you missed me during the summer or when you were—When you were upset. You always said it made you feel better.”

“It does,” Dean says.

“I wanted to feel better,” Seamus says. “After everythin—I really missed you, you know?”

Dean doesn’t say anything, just pulls Seamus into an embrace and holds on. Seamus’ arms around him are strong and desperate, like he’s begging Dean not to let go. It’s been a long year. An entire year of running through forests and sleeping in random street corners and longing for lanky limbs to wrap around him and tell him it’s going to be alright.

It’s been a long year for Seamus, too, he knows. An entire year with half the faculty as Death Eaters can’t have been anything but good. There’s an age in Seamus’ eyes, a darkness that hadn’t been there before. Dean knows he’d have to relearn those eyes and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

It’s been an entire year since they’ve held each other.

“We’re here now,” Dean says again.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Seamus says.

“Never,” Dean says. “Not letting you go for anything. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Seamus says. “I’m sure as hell not letting you go, either.”

“Good,” Dean says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally don't even remember writing this.


	15. How They Fell Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In times of war, sometimes three broken pieces just manage to fit with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black  
> Ship: James/Sirius/Lily  
> aka I fail at experimental writing, part 3

In times of war, sometimes three broken pieces just manage to fit with each other.

But that’s not really right, is it? Because even from the beginning, they were never three separate pieces. They were one piece separated, broken, cracked by time circumstance, and the fates they were dealt. One piece shattered only to be put back together by everything that broke them.

James and Sirius found each other first.

It happens in their third year because if there’s something these boys knew how to do, it’s to always do everything early.

They find each other after dancing around the idea since the day they met. It’s always been there but they never do anything halfway. They make the jump without a glance at the sharp rocks waiting for them if they fall. It happens in a broom closet, a moment filled with heat, passion, and teenage hormones.

(Really, they were nothing more children fumbling at each other and thinking that it’s all they had. Two boys who had no idea what or how to do anything.

One boy never knew pain and the other never knew love.

The only thing either of them knew was that they wanted something and the world owed it to give them what they wanted.)

(She was somewhere else, lost in the bowels of muggles and girls and working hard in a world that simply refused to accept her; things completely foreign to the two pureblood boys.

She wasn’t looking for them yet and they thought that all they needed each other.

The three of them ignored the desolation in their hearts that screamed that something was just not _there._ )

Then, in their fifth year, Sirius loses James—

It was just a prank. Just a trick. Only it wasn’t. Only it shattered their friendship beyond repair.

Only it nearly killed a boy.

Only there’s a war going on around them and they’re picking their sides and neither of them were sure which side Sirius belonged to.

Only Sirius was never able to quite look any of them in the eye properly for years afterwards.

—and James finds Lily instead.

He finds her in a moment of awestruck delight fueled by a loneliness he refuses to acknowledge. He finds her red hair shimmering in the moonlight and her green eyes glittering like blades of grass on a sunny day.

He finds her in moments of pure devotion that only a boy his age could get away with. He finds her with badly written sonnets and well-meant but harsh, and tactless words.

Only Lily finds Sirius, instead.

She finds him on their fifth year, at three in the morning, sitting by the Common Room fire. It happens in a burst of fire and starlight.

They find each other. Two lonely souls. Two souls who just lost someone they could have loved. Someone they may have loved. Someone they will always love.

They’re fifteen and full of grief and maybe something else. Something else neither is quite ready to say out loud.

Two broken pieces from two broken families finally finding each other.

Then Sirius finds James all over again. He finds a James who’s eyes are now only meant for the girl who never gave him what he wanted.

He found James who was his salvation. Who dragged him from hell and everything he didn’t want to be, and into the light he’s always craved.

Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was James who found Sirius all over again. Maybe it was James who found a small, shivering boy on his doorstep, who never really stopped being his best friend.

The two boys found each other and that’s how Lily finally found the both of them.

She found them and they shone like the sun in the dark night. She was drawn the way a moth is to a flame. Oh, and how she knows how easily they can burn off her wings.

She finds them and they find her.

They find each other at a time when they’re not quite children anymore

(It’s a war, filled with hate and pain and death. And didn’t you know? There are no children in war.)

but they’re not quite adults. They find each other because there’s no one else left. Because there’s darkness on all sides and all they could do is cling to each other for warmth and wait for the sunrise.

They find each other because they needed to.

Then Sirius, in a moment of fear that made his limbs shake and his lips turn cold, whispered to the people who was ready to hand over their lives to his safekeeping,

“I can’t do it. I can’t protect you. I’m sorry.”

And they lost each other all over again.


	16. prongsfoot birthday fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James leaves Sirius a puzzle to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black  
> Ship: James/Sirius
> 
> I wrote this on November 11, for Sirius' birthday, presumably. I do not remember writing this.

Sirius doesn’t find James for an entire day. James makes sure Sirius doesn’t see him for an entire day.

What he does find makes him laugh out loud, or at least James hopes it does. He’s too busy hiding from Sirius to know how he reacts to his birthday presents.

First is the dog food because James can’t resist being a bit of an arse. Besides, Sirius can pretend all he wants, but James knows he actually likes the taste of the thing.

Then, there’s the puzzle that James has spread throughout the castle because if there’s one thing that Sirius can’t help but love and enjoy, it’s a good puzzle. It’s one sure way to distract him. And if there’s one thing James is good at, it’s making a puzzle to keep Sirius occupied.

 

##

 

It’s already after dinner when Sirius finds them. Just like James planned.

He ends up at the dorm, holding the piece of parchment that James had all but shoved to him at the beginning of their day, a wide grin on his face.

James presses a kiss to Sirius’ lips, grin equally wide.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

Sirius stares back, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You seriously did all of this?” he asks. “For my birthday?”

He gestures to their confetti filled dorm, along with various colored lights and banner. That’s not even counting the three different types of cakes and almost ten different types of pastries James managed to wrangle from the kitchen.

“Course I did,” James says. “Nothing less for you.”

“You’re a sap, you know that,” Sirius says before attacking James with another kiss, this one considerably longer than the last. James savors it like he does with every kiss he has with Sirius Black.

“Don’t see you complaining,” James says when they pull away. He doesn’t know if he’s breathless because of the length of the kiss or just the mere fact that he’s still kissing his best mate Sirius Black.

“Course not,” Sirius says. “That wouldn’t be very productive and I can think of better uses for our time.”

James grins.

“And what would that be?” he asks. Sirius’ eyes are dark and dangerous. James has long since stopped trying to convince himself that he doesn’t love seeing it. Just seeing that look in Sirius’ eyes makes the entire day a complete and utter success.

“I can think of a number of things,” Sirius says. “I should thank you properly for this.”

“Remus and Peter can walk in any moment, you know.”

“Then we better be quick.”

James’ grin widens and he pushes Sirius onto his bed.

“This will be many things Sirius Black,” he says. “But quick is not one of them.”

Sirius grins back, sharp and dangerous. James smirks and everything falls into place.


	17. Ginny/Luna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood  
> Ship: Ginny/Luna
> 
> aka where are all these fics coming from and why do I have no memory of them?

Ginny finds Luna hiding in their alcove. It’s near the base of Ravenclaw tower but secluded enough that no one really bothers them.

“Hey,” she says. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Luna doesn’t reply. Her gaze is distant and unfocused. Not dreamy, she doesn’t have the look that Ginny’s always loved on her; like she’s lost in a dream and has no intention of finding her way out. Now she’s just distant. Just lost.

“I missed you at breakfast,” Ginny says. She takes a seat right beside Luna and takes her hand. “They had pudding.”

“My mum liked experiments,” Luna says. She’s still not looking at Ginny. “When I was young we would make all sorts of Potions that made such pretty lights and turned everything into the oddest of things. She was the one who taught me how to paint. How to mix colors so they look alive.”

“She must’ve been a really good teacher,” Ginny says. She’d been to Luna’s room once. The paintings on her ceiling was one of the most beautiful things Ginny has ever seen.

“She was,” Luna says. “I remember all these things she did and I wanted to be just like her. She’s the reason I wanted to be in Ravenclaw.”

Ginny lifts her hand and presses a kiss to her palm. Luna holds on tighter.

“The hat barely touched your head when it shouted Ravenclaw,” Ginny says. “She would’ve been proud of you.”

“I hope she would’ve been,” Luna says quietly. “She was very beautiful.”

“So are you,” Ginny says.

Luna’s always been really good at pretending that nothing bothers her and maybe nothing doesn’t. Maybe she really is above the sneers of the rest of the school but Ginny knows there’s only so much a person can take of being left on their own. Luna may shine like a goddess but she’s only ever been human.

“She wanted to fly,” Luna says. “That’s what she always told me. She was going to make a potion and she was going to fly. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to fly away.”

“What happened, Luna?” Ginny asks.

Luna sighs like Ginny doesn’t understand. She rests her head against Ginny’s shoulder and closes her eyes.

“Have you ever wanted to fly away, Ginny?” she says. “Look at the endless sky and just want to be a part of it. To spread your arms and go to the air.”

“No,” Ginny says. “Never. I like it here. War and Death Eaters and all.”

Luna smiles like Ginny finally said the right thing. Her smile never fails to make Ginny’s heart flutter.

“You’re beautiful,” Luna says. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

Ginny moves her head so that she’s staring into Luna’s pale blue eyes. They look a little less distant and a little more dreamy. Ginny wants to know how to shine so full of dreams at a time like this.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says.

Luna’s smile widens and she catches Ginny’s mouth in hers. It feels a lot like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on my [tumblr](http://www.pdfcct.tumblr.com) if you have a request or just want to talk about hp :)


End file.
